Matrilineal: Dolorous
by Macha
Summary: Tenth in the series; Vaughn and Derevko head to Belize.


SPOILERS: Not so much, no. DISCLAIMER: These people belong to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot. SUMMARY: Tenth (!) in the Matrilineal series. Vaughn and Derevko head for Belize. THANKS: To Em, of course, for the fast beta -- not to mention the patience while I put off writing this. :)  
  
Dolorous Macha  
  
He can't fall asleep.  
  
Vaughn tells himself it's the searing Mexican heat. His small hotel room has air conditioning, but it does very little besides move the steamy air around sluggishly. He tries opening the window to let in the ocean breeze. He gets only the loud sounds of drunken revelry in the square below for his efforts.  
  
He rolls over, pushing the damp sheets down off his torso.  
  
It isn't the unfamiliarity of the place keeping him up, either. He has logged more than his share of nights in hotels all over the world.  
  
Every time he begins to drift off, he remembers Derevko's chilling words: Make sure you don't get in my way.  
  
He shivers, just a little, and blames the ocean breeze.  
  
Vaughn sits up in bed, rubs a hand over his face, then tugs off his undershirt. Bare-chested, he flops back down. A few minutes later, he rolls his head to the side and watches the alarm clock count down to morning.  
  
At three minutes after six, he jerks awake, half-remembered images of Sydney and guns and coffins melting away in the dawn's grey light. Vaughn peels back the sheet and pushes himself upright.  
  
After ten minutes standing under the cool spray of the shower, he feels vaguely human again. He skips shaving and dresses quickly, pulling on cargo pants despite the heat. He fills his pockets with his fake documents, his room key, his cellphone, and his weapons, leaving the picture of Jane for last. He studies her smiling face, tilting the photo towards the window to get more light.  
  
Vaughn moves over to his bag, feeling along the seam for the hidden zipper. He knows Jack will be able to track him sooner or later, and he also knows there's a possibility he may not make it back. The men of his family don't fare too well with Irina Derevko.  
  
Just in case, Vaughn takes one last look at Jane, at his daughter, and then carefully tucks the picture alongside his CIA badge in the hidden compartment. If he doesn't make it back, Jack will at least be able to deduce his motive.  
  
Vaughn packs the rest of his belongings into the bag, then places it beside the bed. On his way out, he stops at the front desk and pays for another night in cash.  
  
Sliding on a pair of sunglasses, Vaughn steps out into the sunlight and is unsurprised to see Derevko's driver waiting at the curb.  
  
***  
  
Derevko is already on the small jet when Vaughn boards. She nods, and Vaughn clenches his jaw against his first response. She hasn't been forthcoming with her plans, and his frustration is starting to get the better of his temper.  
  
Once they're aloft, Derevko unbuckles her seatbelt and stands, making her way down the aisle to a large trunk. She lifts the lid and glances over her shoulder at Vaughn. "You're carrying," she says, more of a statement than a question.  
  
He answers anyway. "Of course."  
  
"SIG Sauer P-228 9 millimeter with a thirteen-round clip," she says, one eyebrow arched.  
  
"Yes," Vaughn acknowledges, wondering if he's supposed to be impressed by her familiarity with guns. He's not, and he's tempted to tell her.  
  
Derevko nods. "I have a vest for you, if you'd like."  
  
"I'm going to need a vest?" he asks, irritation in his tone. He's getting tired of her parceling out information in insignificant chunks.  
  
"I hope not." Derevko flashes that annoying half-smile. "But I prefer to be prepared for any eventuality."  
  
"I do, too," Vaughn shoots back. "What's the plan?"  
  
Derevko lifts a Heckler & Koch USP Compact with a stainless steel barrel from the trunk. Deftly, she releases the 10-shot clip, runs one finger down the loaded bullets, then slams the clip home. "Sloane is meeting us at the Crooked Tree Wildlife Sanctuary."  
  
Vaughn searches his memory, but can remember only unrelated facts about Belize. It's roughly the size of Massachusetts, English is the national language, and they're the most stable government in Central America despite being a fairly poor nation. Nothing about a wildlife sanctuary. Nothing that will help. He misses the CIA's incredible system of information suddenly and fiercely. "Where is this place?"  
  
"Thirty miles or so outside of Belize City," Derevko answers smoothly.  
  
"Why did you choose Belize?" Vaughn demands.  
  
"I didn't," she answers, unbuttoning her thin cotton shirt to reveal a tank top. "I allowed Sloane to choose the spot. He loves Belize, and he thinks that I hate it."  
  
Vaughn shrugs, holding her gaze despite the disconcerting sight of Derevko shedding clothes in his presence. "Why does that matter?"  
  
Standing, she pulls a lightweight flak jacket from the trunk. "Except for an ill-fated attempt to capture me," she explains, "I could think of only one reason for you to contact me. I knew Sloane was in Belize City, so I made some preparations before I called him. My agents have been in place since he chose the location." Derevko snaps the clasps into place and bends forward, making sure the jacket won't restrict her movement.  
  
Vaughn puts the rest together himself. Sloane's people would have arrived early to stake out the locale, but Derevko's forces were already there. She had the advantage. "Okay," he says, accepting the jacket she hands him. "So we meet Sloane and then... what? You just let me arrest him?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
Frustrated, Vaughn stands, glaring down at her. "Listen, Derevko, I'm not walking into this situation blind. I need to know if you're going to play bait and leave me to do this myself, or if you're going to assist. I don't care one way or the other, but I need to know where you stand."  
  
"You should know where I stand already," Derevko snaps back, her eyes narrowing. "I will not let Sloane harm Sydney or Jane."  
  
Vaughn can't quite hide the flinch. It still disturbs him to hear his daughter's name from the lips of his father's killer. "Are you going to help or not?"  
  
"Yes," she answers. "I'll help. And you'll be free to take Sloane back to the States." She moves away, lifting her abandoned shirt and shrugging into it. "But you need to stay back when I go in. As soon as he sees you, he'll know it's a trap."  
  
"Does it matter at what point he knows it's a trap?" Vaughn asks, exasperated. "We're not trying to get information from him, we're just trying to capture him."  
  
Derevko turns back and meets his gaze. "We need to be sure my agents have neutralized all of Sloane's," she says, buttoning her shirt over the vest.  
  
"How will we get confirmation? Do we have radio contact?"  
  
Derevko tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "No," she answers. "We'll know when I point a gun at his head and no one shoots me."  
  
Vaughn understands, suddenly, where Sydney got her penchant for idiotic, unconventional ploys. "That's your plan?" he asks, incredulous.  
  
She dips her chin. "That," she tells him, "will be your sign."  
  
***  
  
Their small jet lands at Philip Goldson International Airport, and they're met by one of Derevko's agents, a petite woman with golden skin and a bright wardrobe. She greets Derevko warmly, says hello to Vaughn, and leads them to the waiting car.  
  
The drive isn't that long, a little over a half hour. They pass a large stadium, cross a river, and zip past many, many ramshackle buildings on stilts. After a few minutes, they're out of Belize City and into the country, traveling northwest towards the Sanctuary.  
  
Derevko sits quietly beside Vaughn, her gaze trained out the window at the crooked cashew trees zipping past. He wants to go over last-minute details, to make her promise that she's not setting him up, but he knows it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't believe her anyway.  
  
She glances over at him with that half-smile. "You might want to hold on," she says. "I hear this is something of a bumpy ride."  
  
Vaughn leans forward and his eyes widen when their driver slows down, flipping on her right blinker. There's no road he can see, but she turns anyway, plunging the car into the forest on a nearly hidden path riddled with rocks and potholes.  
  
Five jarring minutes later, the car skids to a halt in front of a large boulder. Vaughn surmises they'll go the rest of the way on foot, and reaches for the door handle.  
  
"No. Give me two minutes." Derevko points out the small stream beside the path. "That's Mexico Creek," she says. "Follow this, and you'll come to Jones Lagoon. I'll be there with Sloane."  
  
"Wait," Vaughn orders.  
  
Derevko pauses with her hand on the door handle. "There's no time," she says.  
  
"How do you know your people are in place?" Vaughn asks.  
  
"I trust them," she says, opening the door. "And you're going to have to trust me."  
  
Vaughn watches her walk around the car, watches until she disappears into the trees, and wonders what the hell he's doing. He's in the middle of a damn jungle in Belize, about to crash a meeting between Arvin Sloane and Irina Derevko, while all around them, Derevko's and Sloane's agents have taken up positions in the trees to kill anyone who interferes.  
  
Well, he tells himself, it's too late to stop this now. He glances at the driver, who's watching him shyly in the rearview mirror. "I'll be back," he tells her, pushing his door open and emerging into the damp jungle air. He eases his gun out of his pocket and slowly closes the car door until it clicks softly. Before he moves into the trees, he disengages the safety.  
  
The going is slow and arduous. It's difficult to move through the forest without making any noise, and it's not easy to follow the twisting creek. Soon he can hear voices ahead, and he slows, peering around each tree before moving, making sure he can't be seen.  
  
Finally, he has Sloane and Derevko in sight. He lifts his gun, aiming at Sloane's chest, and then moves just a little closer. They're facing each other on the shore of the small, deserted lagoon. Vaughn studies the area, looking for agents of either, but sees no one in the surrounding trees.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sloane tells Derevko. "You know I would never hurt Sydney. She's like a daughter to me."  
  
"She's *my* daughter," Derevko answers sharply. "And I believe my feelings on this subject are clear, Arvin. I will not tolerate anyone harming my daughter." She pauses, and even from a distance, Vaughn can see that half- smile. "Or my granddaughter."  
  
Sloane chuckles. "Irina, dear, your sources seem to have withered right along with your influence. I've known about Jane since before she was born."  
  
"I'm not surprised," Derevko answers, shifting her weight. The movement is so subtle, so sudden, that even Vaughn is surprised when Derevko draws her gun.  
  
Sloane doesn't move an inch. "Irina," he says with an amused little tsk. "That's not a good idea."  
  
Vaughn starts to move in, but Derevko takes a step, her free hand lifting slightly in his direction. He understands the sign and hesitates, wondering what she's trying to get Sloane to admit.  
  
"Ask yourself," Derevko says, her tone deceptively charming, "why your men haven't killed me yet."  
  
"They haven't killed you because I told them not to fire without authorization," Sloane answers. "I know how... unbalanced you can get when you believe your daughter to be in danger."  
  
"She's not in danger," Derevko answers. "Not anymore." It's the determined look on her face that tips Vaughn to her intentions. He's moving, crashing through the shrubs as she says, "You should probably tell them to fire."  
  
"No," Vaughn shouts, twenty yards away and closing fast.  
  
Sloane finally looks rattled, finally looks scared, and he raises his voice. "Fire."  
  
There's a gunshot, and Vaughn stops short, watching as Sloane crumples to the ground, one perfect hole in his forehead. Vaughn stares and stares at Sloane, waiting for the images to make a different kind of sense. He turns on Derevko, who is already placing her gun back in her holster.  
  
"What, are you fucking crazy?" he shouts, pulling his gun back up and aiming it at her.  
  
Derevko holds one hand aloft, no doubt instructing her minions to hold off killing Vaughn for a moment. "Agent Vaughn, you might want to reconsider your actions."  
  
"*I* might want to reconsider my actions?" he shouts in disbelief. "You just killed Arvin Sloane!"  
  
"Yes, I did," she confirms, seemingly unconcerned with the gun pointed at her. "And you are, as I promised, free to take him back to the States now."  
  
Vaughn realizes that he's shaking his head, that he's still got her in his sights, but he can't make sense of this. "He's dead," Vaughn says.  
  
"You have two choices, Agent Vaughn," Derevko answers, her tone flinty. "You can put that gun away in the next ten seconds and bring back the body of an enemy of the United States, or my agents can shoot you." She lowers her voice conspiratorially. "They won't kill you, and the CIA can probably get a rescue team here in time, but you should choose well."  
  
He stares at her, and he wonders how such a monster could have produced a child like Sydney. He wonders how he could have been so stupid as to trust her, and he knows his third option, shooting Derevko, is the one that will leave him dead, that will leave his mother with no family, save a granddaughter she doesn't know about.  
  
Grimly, Vaughn flicks on the safety and lowers his gun.  
  
Derevko nods at him, and the expression on her face, the look that says he's done exactly as she thought he would, is almost too much. Vaughn closes his eyes, breathes out slowly.  
  
"Good choice," Derevko says. "I'll be going now."  
  
Vaughn opens his eyes and watches as she walks to the treeline. She pulls something from the bushes, holds it aloft. "A satellite phone," she says. "You can call for extraction." She glances at Sloane's body splayed at the edge of the lagoon, an expression of distaste flashing across her features. "Now he can't hurt them," she says quietly. "No matter what you think, I'm not a monster."  
  
With that, Derevko disappears into the jungle, leaving Vaughn with Sloane's dead body. He glances down at the craggy features, the grizzled hair, the vacant eyes staring up at the sky, and turns away. As he walks towards the satellite phone, he tries to figure out what to say to Devlin. He's pretty sure he's never going to be able to explain this.  
  
He knows he won't ever stop regretting his choices, but there's a small part of him that's relieved, because Derevko's right. Sydney and Jane aren't in danger anymore, and he can't bring himself to regret that.  
  
THE END  
  
Feedback cherished at Macha-at-healthyinterest.net 


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